


indulge

by shoutz



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Desk Sex, F/M, Fantasizing, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Office Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24154543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz
Summary: In which they find time for each other. Finally.Aymeric de Borel works far too much.There is not a single soul in Ishgard that knows otherwise. He harbors a lethal fondness towards overworking himself, and simultaneously finds himself in a position that makes it incredibly easy to do so. More often than not Lucia arrives to find him asleep at his desk asleep amidst the previous day’s work, half-finished with smudges of ink where he had rested his head upon it before it had the chance to dry.The Warrior of Light, in particular, knows this well. Though she does her best to assist when the load is truly too much for him to bear alone, there is only so much he is willing to let her do. Luckily, delivering missives and passing on orders from on high is one of those things. So when the mood strikes her, she lets herself up to Lord Aymeric’s office and divests him of what paperwork he can let go. Simple.But today, shehungers.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 10
Kudos: 104
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV - Aymeric de Borel x WoL Recommendations





	indulge

**Author's Note:**

> a second fic for a lovely anon!!! thank you so much it was an honor to write this for you!

Aymeric de Borel works far too much.

There is not a single soul in Ishgard that knows otherwise. He harbors a lethal fondness towards overworking himself, and simultaneously finds himself in a position that makes it incredibly easy to do so. More often than not Lucia arrives to find him asleep at his desk asleep amidst the previous day’s work, half-finished with smudges of ink where he had rested his head upon it before it had the chance to dry.

The Warrior of Light, in particular, knows this well. Though she does her best to assist when the load is truly too much for him to bear alone, there is only so much he is willing to let her do. Luckily, delivering missives and passing on orders from on high is one of those things. So when the mood strikes her, she lets herself up to Lord Aymeric’s office and divests him of what paperwork he can let go. Simple.

But today, she  _ hungers. _

Such a busy schedule leaves him little and less time to spend with himself, and thus, with her. Unacceptable. So she resolves to carve some time into his schedule for herself.

The doorman nods her past and she takes the lift up to Aymeric’s office. She idly shuffles through the papers, miscellaneous letters to be delivered back to the Lord Commander, and though she hasn’t much reason to worry, a small simmering nervousness settles quietly beneath her skin. 

While  _ theoretically _ she had some notion of his current workload’s intensity, things for the Speaker of the House of Lords tend to change, and rapidly so. The chance that Aymeric finds himself too busy for her weighs heavy in her mind, though she knows better than to take such things personally. It does not bode well for her to think ill of his workload, especially considering her own lofty title and the responsibilities it carries. She shoves her doubts of his willingness aside in favor of more excited energy.

The lift squeaks to a halt and the doors slide open. She treks down the long-empty hall to a familiar set of double doors. One deep breath, to steady herself, and then she pushes the doors open and steps inside.

Aymeric looks exhausted, as usual, though he seems to perk up as she enters. Almost too eagerly, he sets his quill aside and welcomes her.

“Lovely as always to see you, my dear,” he says with a smile, paperwork abandoned in light of her arrival. “I trust you found the recipients of those letters without issue?”

She shrugs, approaching his desk as the doors click shut behind her. “Most of them were where they were supposed to be. The others were given to people who knew where to find them.”

“And these?” he asks, motioning to the papers still in her hand.

She sets them on the farther end of his desk, grinning slightly. “Returned correspondence. Though I’m sure most of them are either reports of gossip or letters with the intention of  _ starting _ gossip, neither of which are worth your time.”

Aymeric reaches across the table anyways to take the papers, which are placed just far enough away from him that he has to bend over the polished wood to grab them. As his fingertips touch them she reaches out and places her hand over his, pinning it to the table with more raw intent than actual strength. Aymeric glances up through his fringe, a slow climb up her body to meet her gaze, bright blue burning hot.

“What?” she asks, feigning innocence in her tone, though they both see it for what it is. Coy, alluring, non-accusatory. Hungry. “No word of thanks? After I went through all that trouble— And you know how hard it is to track down Artoirel these days.”

His smoldering eyes settle into a fond smile. “Of course. I owe you much and more for your faithful service to not only my humble station, but the realm at large. Would that I could dole it to the extent you deserve.”

She smirks and removes her hand, circling to the other side of the table. His eyes stay pinned to hers, his papers forgotten as he stands upright. There’s a low tension heating the two of them far beyond what a distant crackling fire should be able to muster — more pointed, concentrated in her core. Does he feel the same heat? The same desire? Seeing his willingness to abandon it all to instead shift his focus to her is pleasing, to drastically understate the feeling, but—

“Perhaps you can try.”

A fresh heat finds his cheeks, visible even in the low lighting of the room. “And— Pray tell, how do you suggest I go about such a repayment?”

Her eyes wander around the room, considering for a brief moment.

“Well, it has been so long since we’ve had ample time for one another. Especially  _ alone _ time. And…” Her eyes find his again, and she is far too tempted by the fire she sees there. “Well, we could start our own gossip, so to speak.”

The blush dusting his cheeks spreads to his ears, though he tries to hide it. Her implication is clear enough. “Well, if that is— I mean, if you would prefer—”

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to bed you in your office,” she says through a sigh, almost wistful, glancing down at the desk. Papers with ink mostly dry sit upon its surface, partially obscuring polished wood that has been worn in places from overuse. Her fingertips brush across the surface in a small crescent. She fights her own blush as her fantasies emerge at the forefront of her mind, the desires she never dared voice before now. What bravery possesses her? She fights against her own blush as she finds his eyes once more, and the fire trapped within them. “To be the only business on your desk worth attending.”

He exhales a shaky breath at that, but refuses to look away from her. “I…cannot help but find your offer intriguing,” he says, barely louder than a murmur, “more than intriguing, I… but this is hardly the place—”

“Is that not the point?” she asks, taking a step closer. “The thrill of potentially being caught at any moment, the rush, the impatience… Oh, I’ve fantasized such a scenario for weeks. Even if we have the time to relocate elsewhere, what if I would rather not wait for you?” She once again rests her hand over his where it sits on the table. He’s warm and she sees the contact of skin on skin jolt through him like levin. “What if you would rather not wait for me?”

He swallows, thick. “Well, if such a location is…” He clears his throat again. “I believe I understand the appeal, and… I have often fantasized the same. The nights do get rather long, on occasion.” She smiles as he tries to talk around his flustered nerves. “What would you have me do? What more do your fantasies entail? It would not serve me well to disappoint you, my dear.”

_ Oh, but where to begin… _

So many possibilities enter her mind, each more tempting than the last— him laying her on the desk’s surface, licking and sucking at her cunt until she’s gasping— him in the desk’s chair while she mounts upon his lap, setting her own pace and taking from him what she wants—

She can’t possibly decide between her plethora of options. But… Does she have to?

The Warrior of Light slides Aymeric’s hand across the desk’s surface, into the papers that he had been working on when she had arrived. She leans forward slightly and keeps pushing, until his hand slides some of the papers off the surface to scatter on the floor.

Aymeric watches it all happen with rapt attention, lower lip caught between his teeth. She expects to hear protests against his work being so disorganized, or at the mess now littering the floor, but no such thing is forthcoming. Instead he moves on his own volition, shoving away another stack of papers, a stand of quills, other desk accoutrement. They all fall to the floor in a clatter slightly muffled by the carpet.

“And?” he asks, lips barely perched on the precipice of a smirk. It hints at mischief, at an idea of what comes next— but he seemingly wants to hear it from  _ her _ lips, an admission.

But, alas, she remains quiet. Instead she takes his hands gently in her own, her cold fingertips against the warm backs of his, and guides them to her hips. They wrap around her where they contact, a needy grip over her clothes.

“Right,” he nearly purrs, and the noise travels straight through her. “The only business…worth attending.”

With that, he lifts her by the waist and seats her on the desk. The old wood easily takes her weight, not so much as a creak when she is rested fully upon it. She lets her thighs part and he moves to take the space between them, pressing closer. Like this, they share breaths and each other’s warmth, on the edge of losing themselves to one another.

“And now a kiss, if you would be so kind,” she says through a grin.

Aymeric returns her smile, a beast let free to feast.

He leans down to take her lips in a kiss, hands cradling gently beneath her black horns as his fingers sift through her hair. His eagerness in starting the kiss is subdued, but once he makes blessed contact his eagerness grows close to insatiable. He presses himself against her close as he can manage, contact which she is more than willing to further facilitate. Her hands rest at his waist. A moan emerges from the depths of his lungs and she swallows it eagerly. Two joining as one, trading breaths and sighs as they satisfy each other.

But they’re wearing  _ far  _ too many clothes.

It’s a forgivable crime, though. Clothes had never played an important role in the fantasy to begin with and are easily forgotten. The need that has emerged to possess them now is carnal, impatient— unwilling to wait for clasps and buttons and ties. So instead, they take from each other what pleasure they can without attending to such banal tasks. It hasn’t been a  _ long _ time, not quite, but she aches for him as if it had been, and if his own passion is any indication…

She pulls back just slightly to gasp for air and his kisses migrate lower. One of his hands moves to lower the collar of her blouse while his lips kiss and suck at the skin there, not quite hard enough to mark— but his intention is clear.

And she  _ needs _ it.

_ “Yes,” _ she hisses. The heat from his tongue and lips goes straight between her thighs, a heat compounded further by his waist pressing into her core. With newfound encouragement he adds the faintest hint of teeth to his kisses, small blunt scratches against the soft skin of her neck with the promise of more. His lips skirt the edge of the scales patching her neck, trailing down to disappear beneath her collar, and the two dueling sensations only heighten her arousal.

Aymeric trails lower and lower still, easing her backwards by ilms. By the time his kisses reach the extent of her stretched collar, he begins unfastening it and pulling it open, lavishing the newly exposed skin. The attention makes her run hot, cheeks burning as the goosebumps rise on her skin as it makes contact with the comparably frigid Ishgard air.

“Do forgive my assumption,” he murmurs into the skin between her breasts, “but I do believe the logical next step of a situation such as this is…shall we say,  _ further south _ from here.” His grin sharpens, hands sliding down to her waist. His fingertips find the waistband of her pants and tug at them innocently. “Would you not agree?”

The Warrior of Light can only bite her lip and nod, holding his gaze.

Aymeric licks his lips and eases her shirt the rest of the way open, sliding his hands up beneath the fabric to feel her soft skin and callus scales where they meet just beneath her rib cage. He kisses and bites as his lips trail lower, lower, and eventually she’s forced to lean backwards propped on her elbows as she watches him carefully suck a small bruise into the skin of her hip.

_ “Ah… _ m-more, please…” she manages to say, breathless as she watches. He looks up at her through dark hair that cascades over his brow, before moving slightly lower and planting another, more forceful this time. He’s close,  _ so close _ to where she wants him most, and the heat burns hot and low in her core—  _ Fury, _ he’s barely even undressed her and she’s already a mess.

He tugs twice at her waistband and she obediently lifts her hips. He slides her pants and smallclothes off in one smooth motion, exposing her to the air— a sight he devours with a hunger he could not possibly conceal.

A hunger so strong, he takes only a second to appreciate the view, before sucking gentle bruises on the insides of her thighs. Each one makes her squirm and whine, desperate for contact where she desires it most, until finally,  _ finally _ his lips close around her mound.

_ “Aymeric…” _ she sighs, leaning her head back between her shoulders as his tongue laps at her with slow, languid strokes. Not pointed, not precise, not too fast— only an encompassing wetness and warmth and gentle rhythmic sensation against her sex. One of her hands moves to tangle in his luxurious hair and pulls him closer. She shifts her hips in rhythm with his motions, grinding her own pleasure from his face despite his reluctance to go any faster or more forcefully than he is now.

“Mmm… It seems your silver tongue is good for things other than speeches… An entirely new form of  _ lip service,” _ she says, combing his hair back with her fingers. He looks up at her and his pace shifts just slightly, more eager strokes against her, lingering longer against her clit. “I…  _ oh, yes… _ I do hope your staff has returned to their homes for the evening… Wouldn’t want…anyone to see you slacking off… You are  _ such _ a busy man…”

He detaches from her sex and plants wet kisses against her thighs, smirking. “Oh, but the business to which I tend is of the utmost import… Surely they would understand.”

The Warrior of Light’s hips shift, and she whines, “Then  _ tend _ to it, Aymeric, enough of your  _ teasing.” _

He trails his kisses closer and closer to where her thighs meet, already dripping from his previous attention and her own arousal.

“As my lady wishes.” His breath ghosts over the warmth of her core, sending a chill up her spine, before his mouth descends once more with an earnest urgency. His motions rise in a crescendo, faster and faster until the only noises filling his office are her own whimpers and the wet noises of his tongue against her cunt. He sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth and holds it in place as his tongue laves it with attention, and her spine arches towards the ceiling while she moans low, ragged, brought so close to the edge, until—

She  _ snaps. _

She half expects him to stop and leave her wanting, to let her simmer down before bringing her to another fervent boil, but it seems his patience wanes thin alongside her own. His tongue moves faster and faster, relishing all its attention and energy directly where she is most sensitive, until she bucks her hips off the desk and keens her release against his lips and tongue.

Aymeric wrings the pleasure from her until she squirms and whines with the oversensitivity, shoving weakly at his head to get him to cease. She takes a small moment to catch her breath, unable to will the smile from her face as she comes down from her orgasm, even despite his continuing attention to her sensitive sex. Eventually he relents and stands, and she does her best to push herself to sit upright upon his desk once more.

He takes a moment to catch his own breath, trying to casually adjust the crotch of his trousers to be more comfortable around his straining erection. This does not escape the Warrior of Light’s attention, though. Once she feels like enough sensation has returned to her legs, she pushes off the desk to stand before him, still bare from the waist down save for her open shirt.

“I do hope it was up to your expectations, my dearest,” he says, eyes fond as they watch her.

“You have far surpassed them, my love,” she says. “But it is only fair that I return the favor— a fantasy fulfilled, for a fantasy fulfilled?”

The question is open-ended enough to allow him a way out, should he desire it, but the tips of his ears turn red immediately. He considers it for a moment, and when he speaks again his words are careful.

“Well…” he begins, words not quite steady. “On particularly long nights, I do wonder what it would be like to have you whilst seated upon my desk’s chair… But if such is not to your liking, then—”

His words trail off as her fingers find the intricate clasps and cinches of his armor, working deftly to peel away the layers until the bulk of the cloth and metal pieces lay discarded upon the floor with her own shed layers. Once he is divested of the unnecessary clothing, she places a fingertip against his chest and walks him slowly backwards. The backs of his knees hit the seat of his chair and he obediently sits, staring up at her with a bitten lip and a smoldering gaze.

The Warrior of Light moves to straddle his hips, legs draped across either side of his chair as she lingers closer to him. “I would be more than happy to oblige, my lord.”

Aymeric hisses a breath as she finally wraps a delicate hand around his length, hard and red and exposed to the air as she had been moments before. She strokes it slow, languid as he had been, not nearly enough sensation to be satisfying— but he raises no complaint. He almost reaches with his hands to ease her along in her process, but one stern look is enough for him to halt, instead just resting them at her hips lest they be tempted to request more of her than she is willing to give.

She decides he’s had enough anticipation after a few moments and positions the tip at her still-wet and waiting entrance. Slowly, savoring the friction, she descends upon it, taking ilm by ilm until she is seated fully upon the length. She relaxes slowly, hissing out a breath once their hips meet each other flush. Aymeric rests his head against the back of his chair, the length of his neck exposed and enticing.

_ “Oh… _ Please, my love, I…” he moans as she kisses and sucks at the junction between his neck and collar bone, marking him just barely out of view when he dons his armor. She bites at the skin and he moans louder, fingers tightening their grip on her hips, silently urging her to move— and so she does. Languid thrusts of her hips, at first, a rhythmic ebb and flow mirroring his own slow start while she sucks and bites a small bruise into his neck.

His hips start to move on their own, thrusting up into her as she rolls her hips down to take him. His moans echo low, rumbling through his chest as they move in tandem. A heat builds within her once more and she leans into it, friction escorting her to a second release as she moves to suck on another part of his bare, muscular chest.

Aymeric’s grip tightens, possessive, and his thrusts meet hers with increasing force, until the angle shifts and she’s moaning into his skin  _ yes please gods right there— _

One of his hands moves to her front and circles around her clit, a pace she could not hope to resist. His breath quickens, her breath quickens, meeting together at a punishing pace until—

_ “Ohhh… _ Yes…” He thrusts upwards once more and exhales a moan as his orgasm crests. He maintains his movements against her clit until she’s clenching around him, finding her end as he does.

For a few blissful moments, the only sounds between them are their own labored breaths. The Warrior of Light places gentle, soothing kisses against the places marked red with her desire. Eventually Aymeric tilts her head up to look at him, before taking her lips in a gentle, nearly chaste kiss.

“Thank you, my love,” he says, nearly glowing with his contentment. “I was in sore need of a distraction.”

“I am more than happy to oblige, my lord. Mayhap next time, we can start with one of yours.” The Warrior of Light smiles, places another chaste kiss to Aymeric’s cheek. She can see a flicker of interest in his eyes at the notion of more, a spark she would love to see tended into a roaring flame. “Even the hardest workers must indulge, every now and again.”

**Author's Note:**

> meanwhile, in the imperial palace... estinien receives a letter with a mysterious stain
> 
> i talk too much about aymeric on twitter [@shoutzwastaken](http://twitter.com/shoutzwastaken)
> 
> you can find a lot of people who talk about aymeric over at [the book club](https://discord.gg/X6NJJAb)


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